


Mud

by R00bs_Teacup



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 21:16:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11170230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R00bs_Teacup/pseuds/R00bs_Teacup
Summary: Nothing happens, rando snippet. Gwaine plays footie, Arthur and Merlin watch, Merlin gets drunk





	Mud

Arthur watches Gwaine. It's raining, and the mud Gwaine's playing in is thick, and Arthur knows that the mud currently caking Gwaine will, when Gwaine has won (he is going to win today as well), end up all over Arthur; his suit, his skin, his good coat, even his umbrella. And then it will end up all over Arthur's flat; the new carpet, the white sofa, the wooden shelves, even the walls. Gwaine's heels are kicking up, toes burying in the earth, running. Through the rain. Uncaring. 

“Come on Gwaine! That's it! Run you fucker!” Merlin screams in Arthur's ear, holding on to Arthur's shoulder, jumping up and down. 

Gwaine's got the ball between his feet, dribbling, and he's going to score. Then he knocks the ball, it skids across the marsh of the pitch right to number twelve's toe, and then sails into the net. Snug and safe. Merlin screams louder, cheering with the rest of the crowd. Gwaine's celebrating with his team mate, hugging. Arthur turns away and checks his watch. Ten minutes left. 

“That was good,” Merlin says, sitting back into his plastic seat, beaming with pride. 

Arthur nods and looks back at the pitch, watches the players re-setting as the goalie throws the ball back into play. It's a slow last ten minutes and nothing happens until the final seconds, when Gwaine dives through the mud (so much mud and now it's going to be in Gwaine's hair, in his mouth, all over his skin) to get his body in front of the ball in the middle of a pass, hands up and out of the way. The ball bounces and Gwaine's already scrambling to his feet, over the ball, and running again. 

Merlin's on his feet, the crowd's stamping and yelling, screaming, the rain's beating the roof of the changing room, the stands and the ground and the people. There's the smell of wet clothes, mud, dirt, grass. Gwaine kicks the ball neatly into the net and Merlin has his knee on Arthur's thigh, bouncing up and down, fingers digging into Arthur's shoulder. He's knocked Arthur's umbrella away and the rain's getting into his hair. He's wet, the water against his skin, down his back. 

The whistle goes and Arthur gets up, tucks his umbrella under one arm and Merlin's hand under the other, and makes a break for it. They avoid the rush and burst out into the car park. Arthur straightens his clothes, opens his umbrella and releases Merlin's hand before offering his arm, which Merlin accepts, still beaming, chattering away. They walk to the changing room and Arthur waits while the team celebrates. Merlin throws himself into the middle of it all, of course. 

“No,” Arthur says, when Gwaine comes over, warding him off with the furled umbrella, “you're muddy.” 

“Come on, you're already wet. And look at your trousers,” Gwaine says, accent thick, words slurring with excitement. 

Arthur doesn't look. He only fell for that once. He knows that his trousers are fine. The bottoms will be wet and there will be some muck from the changing room floor, but they're acceptable. 

“Shower,” Arthur says, firmly. 

“Fine, fine! Want to meet at the pub instead of standing around?” 

“I can wait.” 

Gwaine shrugs and runs off, back bare, muscles on display. The showers have been going non-stop and Leon, the left winger, comes out first, fully dressed and almost clean. There's still mud in his hair and behind his ears and on his neck. 

“Alright, Arthur?” Leon says, grinning, “good game, huh?” 

“Yes,” Arthur says, “you played well. That was a good goal.” 

“Gwaine's doing, really, as always.” 

“It's a team sport, takes a whole team to score. You were there, right?” 

“Right!” Leon says, “see you later for a pint?” 

“I'm just waiting for Gwaine, won't be long.” 

The other guys follow Leon in a steady stream, family members, friends and partners hanging around them like satellites. Percy and Gwaine are last, Gwaine and Merlin both talking, arms waving, too excited for Gwaine to dress at any speed. Eventually Gwaine stands, mostly dressed, and pulls on his jumper. His shoes are still untied and he has no coat, but he's close enough. 

“Always last, big guy?” Gwaine says to Percy, grinning. 

“Got more to dry, haven't I? Short stuff,” Percy says, affectionate, warm. 

Arthur likes Percy. He smiles over and Percy smiles back, wide and proud. Merlin comes over, Gwaine in tow. 

“Ready?” Merlin asks Arthur, as if they've been waiting all this time for him. 

“Put your coat on, Gwaine. And don't touch me till you've showered, Merlin. And are we waiting for Percy?” Arthur says, giving Percy a wave. 

“Nah, he'll take forever,” Gwaine says, but Percy's already headed over and he's already got his coat on and his shoes are tied. 

“Coat, shoes,” Arthur says, pointing each lapse out to Gwaine. 

They wait for Gwaine to get himself together and then leave, Gwaine locking up behind them. There's no one outside, except a small boy with a Camelot umbrella, waiting for Gwaine with an autograph book. 

“Thanks!” the boy says, wide eyed and awed. 

“Any time, mate,” Gwaine says, straightening. 

The boy runs off and Arthur rests a hand in the small of Gwaine's back, noticing the slight grimace. They walk forward, Merlin talking to Percy a mile a minute. Arthur drops back a little and Gwaine slows to wait for him, ducking to share the umbrella. 

“No mud, now,” Gwaine says, wrapping an arm around Arthur's waist. 

“What hurts?” Arthur asks, tucking his hand into Gwaine's belt to hold him close. Gwaine tries to veer away a little, but Arthur's got him. Arthur smiles. 

“Fine. I pulled a muscle in my shoulder again, but it's fine.” 

Arthur brings his hand up to rest over the sore shoulder, over the coat and clothes. Gwaine's lips quirk. 

“Ready to celebrate?” Arthur asks. 

“Honestly? I'm knackered. I'm pushing forty, I'm too old for this shit.” 

“So retire,” Arthur says. 

Gwaine laughs, sticking a hand out from under the umbrella. 

“And miss all this? Not on your life, mate,” Gwaine says, smile breaking across his face. 

“You're thirty two,” Arthur says. 

“Yes I am, and a wonderful thirty second birthday I had, sweetie-pie.” 

Gwaine presses his face into Arthur's neck, nuzzling, wet hair and wet lips and wet tongue. Arthur stops and stands still until Gwaine gives over. Gwaine laughs at him and gets in front of him, cradling his face, holding him still. 

“Thanks for watching,” Gwaine says, breathing into Arthur's mouth, “I like you being there.” 

“Any time,” Arthur says. 

“May I?” Gwaine asks, losing patience. 

Arthur grins and pretends to think about it, then reaches up to push the wet hair off Gwaine's forehead and face, touches his cheek, his nose, his lips. 

“Alright,” Arthur says. 

Gwaine kisses him slowly, holding him there under the umbrella in the rain, hands holding his head still, taking, giving. There's the heat of him, the press of his lips, the rub of his moustache and stubble. The dampness as his mouth opens, cold, and then warm, sharing Arthur's stale breath. 

“Come on, guys!” Merlin yells from up ahead, “you're missing the beer! Elyan will have drunk the bar dry at the rate you're going!” 

Arthur reaches out and holds Gwaine there a moment longer, wanting the peace, wanting to be alone with him, then releases him. Gwaine buffs Arthur's cheek with his knuckles the turns, skipping into a run to catch up with the others. Arthur keeps his sedate pace and so he arrives last. The pub's too noisy, too many people, too much over the top excitement and joy. Arthur sits on the end of the table they've commandeered and listens to Elyan, already deep in his pint. 

“And then Gwaine just sails off with the bloody ball! Bloody, bloody brilliant!” Elyan yells happily, smacking Arthur on the back enthusiastically. 

“Yeah, I saw,” Arthur says, settling a hand on Elyan's shoulder and pushing him to sit back down, “I was there.” 

“Did you see the save I made in the first half, or were you still at work?” 

“Saw it from the beginning. That was a good save. So were the other's. You should accept the next time someone tries to talent hunt you, make a career,” Arthur suggests. 

“Nah, I like playing like this. Amateur league has the most fun. Right guys?” 

That gets a cheer, even though only a handful of people hear what Elyan says. Elyan's sister smiles warmly at Arthur. 

“Your choice,” Arthur says with a shrug. He'll keep on making the contacts and sending the spotters after Elyan anyway. 

“I like my other job, too,” Elyan says, beaming. 

“You work in a restaurant as a waiter,” Arthur says. 

“Free food,” Gwen says, leaning over the table to explain and ruffle Elyan's hair. 

At nineteen, Elyan's by far the youngest player on the team. He's at uni studying criminology and, despite Arthur's insistence that he'd make a brilliant pro football player, plans on working for a police forensic department. 

“Young people today,” Arthur offers, shaking his head, and Gwen laughs. 

She's wonderful, warm and big hearted, often coming to Elyan's games even though she lives in London which is three hours drive. Or two, if Merlin's driving on a sugar high. Arthur looks around for Merlin and finds him in Percy's lap, attempting to climb over him to get out. Arthur watches. 

“Alright?” Gwaine asks, appearing at Arthur's shoulder, “I'm getting something to eat, do you want anything?” 

“No,” Arthur says, turning away from the spectacle of Merlin slowly falling off the bench, over Percy's knees, arse in the air, “I'm not staying long.” 

Gwaine pouts, but he doesn't look disappointed. Arthur gets to his feet and follows Gwaine to the bar. 

“Want to come with me?” Arthur says, “I'll make a fuss. They know I'm a prat.” 

“Thanks for the offer,” Gwaine says, sarcastically, dryly, Arthur thinks he's joking, “but I'll stay. I'm enjoying myself.” 

“Mind if I head off now?” 

“Nah, go ahead. See if Merlin wants to...” Gwaine trails off, obviously locating Merlin and discovering for himself how much fun Merlin's having, “right. I'll bring him home with me, then.” 

“Are you coming to mine? Or going home?” 

Gwaine considers it, balancing 'close', for his flat, with 'nicer and warmer and softer bed and with food and with Arthur', for Arthur's. 

“I'll pay for a taxi,” Arthur offers. 

“Done,” Gwaine says. Arthur hands him two twenties, exhorts a promise for change, and then leaves the pub to it's rowdy celebrating. 

Gwaine shows up at half past eleven, a very drunk Merlin slung over a shoulder in a fireman's carry. Arthur has to get up from where he was curled on the sofa reading and let them in the front and then the flat door. Gwaine dumps Merlin in Arthur's spot on the sofa and goes to rummage through the kitchen for food. Arthur undresses Merlin, taking care, bewildered by the fact he's wearing a shoe on his left foot but only a sock on his right. 

“What happened to the other one?” Arthur asks. 

“Didn't notice,” Gwaine says, with a shrug, tucking into a bowl of leftover pasta. 

“How much have you eaten so far tonight?” Arthur asks. 

He's not interested in the answer, and Gwaine just shrugs again, wandering over to the chair. Arthur peels Merlin's wet jumper over his head and dumps it on the heap of coat and jeans and sock and shoe. The t-shirt follows, and then Merlin's boxers. Merlin looks vulnerable, naked and spread out like that, and younger than he is. Arthur wraps him in the blanket off the back of the sofa and covers his vulnerability, shuts his gaping mouth with a thumb and rubs at his hair with a towel until he looks less like he's six years old. 

“I'm tiiiired,” Gwaine wines. 

“So go to bed,” Arthur says, not looking away from Merlin. He traces the line of Merlin's ear, rubs Merlin's back through the blanket until he stops shivering. Merlin opens his eyes, heavy lidded, and smiles drunkenly, trying to untangle a hand. 

“Arthur,” he slurs. 

“Water,” Arthur says, pressing his water bottle into Merlin's hand and waiting for him to drink at least half. 

Merlin gulps it down obediently and is left with wet lips, water escaping over his chin and into the sofa cushions. Arthur rubs it away with his thumb. 

“You can kiss me, if you like,” Merlin says. 

Arthur kisses him gently, just a chaste kiss. Presses his warm lips to Merlin's, then to Merlin's cheek and neck, checking for cold. 

“Nice,” Merlin whispers, squirming. 

“Don't go getting ideas,” Arthur says. 

“Bed time?” Merlin says, yawning, forgetting his ideas before they properly form, going limp again. 

“If you like,” Arthur says, feeling agreeable. 

Merlin nods, untangles his arms and wraps them imperiously around Arthur's neck, crooking up his knees and waiting. Arthur sighs, but gets to his feet and lifts Merlin bridal style. Merlin laughs, pleased, and licks Arthur's neck. 

“Home, Jeeves,” Merlin says, before falling asleep in Arthur's arms. 

Arthur holds him, more like an over-grown child than a bride, really. All of Merlin's love and laughter and glee. 

“I love you,” Arthur says, pressing a kiss to merlin's head. 

“Come on,” Gwaine says, grumpy about being ignored. 

Arthur carries Merlin to bed and settles him there, waiting for Merlin to do his usual starfish impression before rearranging his limbs so Gwaine and Arthur will fit on the bed, too. 

“Get in quick before he spreads again,” Arthur says. 

Gwaine climbs in, but he's still grumbly. 

“My shoulder hurts,” Gwaine complains. 

Arthur goes around to his side of the bed and sits at his back, giving Gwaine the attention he's after now that Merlin's settled. 

“Alright, bear,” Arthur says, rubbing Gwaine's back, around the sore muscle. 

It's always the same shoulder, usually the same muscle group. Arthur knows the pain points and sore places and he can work around them like a pro, massaging gently while Gwaine falls asleep. Gwaine snores, so Arthur always knows when he's under. Arthur presses a kiss to Gwaine's hair and makes sure he's warm enough before he goes back to get in his own side. Merlin's spread, so Arthur has to re-organise his limbs again before he can get into bed and go to sleep.


End file.
